


Songbird

by northerntrash



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Giveaway, M/M, No Incest, the boys are not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6187393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northerntrash/pseuds/northerntrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, in a world that was not so different from our own, there was a Kingdom of shining glass and silver: people from afar whispered to each other that the streets ran with plenty, and that in its gleaming streets wishes came true. Kili didn’t really believe that. </p><p>In which an orphan meets a Prince, and sings the birds from the trees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songbird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinigami714](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami714/gifts).



> A giveaway prize for the wonderful shinigami714! This version follows some different versions of the fairy tale, but nothing too confusing, hopefully. A few characters/relationships have been altered, to better fit Tolkien's characters and relationships as I see them.

A long time ago, in a world that was not so different from our own, there was a Kingdom of shining glass and silver, the diamond in the crown of a just and stern King: people from afar whispered to each other that the streets ran with plenty, and that in its gleaming streets wishes came true.

Kili didn’t really believe that.

Then again, he supposed that he didn’t _really_ live in the city proper, so perhaps he wasn’t in the best place to judge whether or not wishes ever actually did come true: he lived in an orphanage, run by a series of foolish ladies and gentlemen, in a small village that had grown up just outside the city walls, at the border of the old forest. In fact, he could only remember being in the city three or four times in the short span of his young life, but even so, he could say with some certainty that none of his wishes had ever come true. He remembered wishing fervently, when he had first been brought here, that his parents would come back to life, that the storm that had taken them had never happened, and that had certainly never been granted, despite how many nights he had cried his young eyes to sleep in the large dorm room that he had been sent to when it had become clear that he had no other living relatives willing to take on the burden of another mouth to feed.

He had been seven years old at the time, and already the memories of his life before the orphanage were all but gone: just the vaguest memory of his mother singing, of his father’s smile, of the warmth of a loving home and arms around him. And the orphanage wasn’t so bad, not really. There were many chores to be done, and he often went to sleep aching and tired, but there were always meals on the table, subsidised by wealthy landowners in the area and from their own gardens, and the comfort of the company of other children to be had.

Tauriel, in particular – and he supposed that if he had never come to the orphanage, then he never would have met her, his greatest friend and most stalwart defender. He still remembered the way that she had slipped into his bed next to him after his first couple of nights crying into his thin pillow. She had only been a year or two older than he, but she had wrapped his arms around him and he had snivelled into the long braid of her auburn hair until he had finally fallen asleep.

She had taken him under her wing a little, after that, helping him with his chores and showing him her favourite places to play in the forest when they were done for the day, and soon enough they had become friends. The steady stream of the years began to trickle by, and over time grief had turned into a strange little ache rather than an all-consuming agony. By the time he was ten, he had almost forgotten his mother’s face, only the words she had whispered into his ears so often as a child.

_“Be kind, sweetness, and you will never want for love.”_

Well, the ladies and gentlemen who ran the orphanage certainly never gave out all that much love – he wasn’t sure if they could even tell any of them apart. But when the birds sang to him he scattered crumbs on the ground for them, when he heard new children crying in their beds he tried to comfort them as he had once been comforted, and some years later he found that kindness was needed once more, when Tauriel suffered the Great Disappointment.

He had probably been about twelve, though after a while he had ceased to mark his name-days, so he wasn’t entirely sure. The children at the orphanage, when they grew too old to live there any further, were often sent to local farms and tradesmen to work as apprentices or labourers: they had little choice in the matter, and although most of them were just glad enough to have somewhere to go after the orphanage turned them out, Tauriel had set her eyes on a far granger prize. His friend, far taller than he and already catching the eye of some of the young lads around the village (all of which were met with disinterest and distain), had set her heart on being a City Guard.

There was no greater honour: even they, in their small village and with their limited knowledge of the world, knew that. From time to time the Guards would patrol the forest and he and Tauriel would see them, through the trees, all shining armour and finely honed weapons. Tauriel had been practising with the old bow that had been her father’s last gift to her for as long as Kili could remember: she had been certain that, as soon as she turned eighteen, she would run away from the village and the drudgery of an unwanted apprenticeship or marriage, and would enlist.

“Look,” she would whisper to him, as they watched the Guards go by on their horses from their position in the high branches of the trees. “One day, that’ll be me. Only I’ll be better than all of them put together. I’ll be their _Captain._ ”

Kili would nod in return: he had no doubt in his mind that his friend was talented and determined enough to achieve anything that she wanted.

But she made the mistake one day of mentioning this dream to the wife of a farmer, whose house she was cleaning that week on behalf of the orphanage. The farmer overheard, and after laughing at her for some moments, informed her that you could not simply enlist for the Guards.

“Don’t you think every lad or lass handy with an axe or a blade would do so, if that were the case? You have to prove yourself to them – and they don’t hold auditions, girl.” His smile had turned a little sympathetic, then, at the sight of her falling expression, and he had patted her head with just the right amount of pity to leave her scowling instead. “Let go of the dream, lass. You’ll never get close enough for them to even know you are alive.”

Tauriel had been distraught: she didn’t speak to anyone for well over a day, and even when her voice came back to her she was withdrawn, and sullen. The ladies had patted her head at first, and then had grown impatient when she did not respond with a smile or gratitude: the children too had quickly stopped trying to play with her, for each of them had their own troubles, too much on such little shoulders to take the weight of another’s burden.

But Kili had been there, sitting next to her in silence or braiding her hair or singing to her the songs that he knew she liked in his fine, clear voice.

“You will get your chance,” he whispered to her from the mattress next to hers at night. “You are strong, and resolute, and braver than anyone I have ever known. I believe in you, and I will believe in you, even when you cannot believe in yourself.”

She didn’t respond to him, but one day she seemed to come back to herself, a brightness in her eye and a straightness to her spine that had not been there before, as if iron coated her bones. She took his hand in hers, and kissed his forehead, and he could feel the press of her smile against his skin.

“You’re right,” she told him, in nothing more than a murmur. “One day I’ll get out of here, and you’ll come with me, and we’ll have a real home, and real happiness, and we’ll always be the greatest of friends.”

He never doubted her: how could he, when she shone with such determination?

 

* * *

 

The years continued to pass: Kili grew taller, although never quite as tall as Tauriel, and though he was wiry he was also strong enough with it that he became quite popular at some of the small farms around the village, always eager to help and to please. He liked working on the fields: it was still, and quiet, and peaceful, and when he drew close to the boundary of the forest he could hear the birds singing, and the leaves whispering, as if they were trying to tell him a secret. He enjoyed his work so much, in fact, that often he was allowed to leave early, having completed his chores by mid-afternoon. When he did, it was to the forest he went, stepping quietly through the undergrowth, taking a long and circuitous route back to orphanage, underneath the trees.

And it was on such an afternoon, the sunlight spun gold falling between the leaves, that he heard the horns of the Royal hunt echoing through the forest.

He had heard them before, of course – had once or twice spotted them too, their pennants flying, all shining silver and blues – so he did not think much of it. It was only when his ear caught the sound of an approaching horse that he began to worry, for he had no desire to be yelled at by huntsman, which would be the best outcome if he were mistaken for a poacher. He hoped rather fervently that Tauriel had not finished work early too, for with her bow, she would stand out a mile.

“Hullo!” called out a voice, and Kili startled: the sound of the horse had seemed too far away for him to be found so soon, but as he glanced around he realised that he had stumbled upon a long open line of visibility between the tree trunks: there indeed was the man on the horse, far away but with a clear sight of him.

He swallowed nervously as he approached: running away was an option, but he wasn’t sure how well he would do at outrunning a horse.

“I seem to have found myself lost,” the man said as he drew close enough, smiling down from his horse. His smile was warm, and didn’t seem angry in any way, but Kili still shuffled uncomfortably, startling as the horse nuzzled at his ear.

The man tugged at the reins, trying to shift the horse, who now seemed rather fascinated with Kili’s hair.

“Sorry about that,” he said, before swinging his leg over the saddle and dropping gracefully to the ground. He was much less intimidating this way, Kili was glad to realise. He was just a little shorter than Kili once he pulled off his shining helmet, and his fair hair was pulled back from his face, exposing a man not much older, whose eyes were already beginning to crinkle in laughter lines. “He’s the friendliest creature I’ve ever known – sorry if he startled you.”

Kili shook his head, and the man smiled again.

“I don’t suppose you could point me back in the direction of the road, could you?”

Kili bit his lip. He shouldn’t have been talking to the man at all – the colours of his cloak made it clear enough that he came from the palace, from inside the Kingdom, and he had been told many times in life to be seen and not heard when it came to important people. But what was he to do? The man was staring at him expectantly, still smiling in that warm little way that made Kili flush, a heat beginning to build at the back of his neck.

“It’s, um, that way,” he said, quickly, gesturing off to the east, where indeed the main path did lie. The man followed his hand with his eyes, but was already frowning.

“Aye, I’d wager that it is, but my family have a rather unfortunate trait – we get lost very easily, and I’m afraid I must admit that I am as bad as the rest of them.”

He said this with a hint of laughter in his tone, and Kili found himself half-smiling in return.

“I don’t suppose you’d take me there, would you? I’m sure you have much better things to do, and I’ve probably interrupted you entirely, but I would appreciate it, or else I will probably end up wandering around here for days.”

Kili shook his head slowly, his mouth still desperately trying to pull itself up into a smile. This fair-haired man was charming in his humorous self-depreciation, and he found himself already more relaxed than he had been only moments ago.

“It’s alright,” he replied, and then his smile finally did take over when the man shot him such a beam of appreciation that he felt half-blinded by it. “I’ve finished work for the day anyway, and it shouldn’t take us too long.”

“You must have been sent by a god,” the man told him, and now Kili really was flushing, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Some divine messenger waiting among the trees, for I would have been lost forever without you.”

Kili snorted, and turned eastward, picking his way through the undergrowth.

“I’d try worshipping different gods, if I’m the best you’re getting,” he replied, and the man let out a gleeful laugh behind him, urging his horse forward but remaining on foot himself, quickly drawing level with Kili.

“I’ll be worshipping all the harder,” the man told him, smiling but oddly sincere. “And seriously, I really do appreciate it.”

Kili shrugged, humming a little, not entirely sure how best to respond to this levity.

“What’s your name?” Kili asked in the end, and the man looked at him, a little startled. He made a low, uncertain sound, as if he wasn’t quite sure why Kili was asking, or why he didn’t know already – but then he shook his head, with a small smile.

“My Uncle calls me Fee,” he answered. “It’s a nickname, but I prefer it to my full name.”

Kili nodded, stepping over an overturned tree trunk.

“Mine’s Kili,” he said, trying not to smile when Fee stumbled, obviously not entirely used to trekking through the undergrowth. “So what are you doing out here, anyway?”

“Umm,” Fee started, his eyes on the leaves around their feet. “I was a part of the hunt, but I thought I saw a deer, and started off after it, but… I don’t know, I just kept going, and then I realised that I didn’t have a clue where I was, or how to get back to the others.”

“Do you enjoy the hunt?” Kili asked. The hunt was a semi-regular palace event – the King held the rights to hunting in the forest, and every few months or so a party would come out from the palace. When Fee nodded, but said no more, he grasped desperately for something else to say. “So do you work at the palace then?”

Fee nodded quickly, his eyes a little wide. “That’s right. I’m… learning to do what my Uncle does.”

Kili smiled. “So you’re an apprentice then? I’m hoping to get an apprenticeship in the next few months. I suppose it is a little easier when you have a family member to follow?”

Fee nodded. “I’m not sure how much of a choice I had, really.”

“Oh,” Kili answered, feeling a little guilty for having brought it up. “I’m sorry, that must be really hard.”

Fee shrugged, but there was a strange look on his face.

“I suppose so,” he replied, after a long moment. “Though I’m not sure that anyone has ever said that to me before.”

Fee was looking at him oddly now, and he found himself blushing again, staring resolutely at the ground instead. There was a rather unexpected warmth in his chest, something he had not felt before, something that was both unfamiliar yet familiar at the same time, as if he had felt this way in a dream once before, a dream that had slipped away from him in the morning.

Fee seemed to notice, or perhaps he was feeling the same way, for he too looked away, eyes roving through the trees. The sun must have been growing low in the sky, and Kili wondered how long they had been out here, without them noticing: the gold of late afternoon was spreading through the trees, casting long shadows, calling the birds home to roost. He sang up to the trees, and smiled as a songbird called back to him, a long quavering note that seemed to echo between the leaves.

His song was a gentle one, a melody that he had learnt from the cradle, and he sang it for a moment more, until the bird flew down to him, perching on his hand and watching Fee quizzically before fluttering away again.

“Are you sure you’re not a spirit?” Fee asked, quietly. “I’ve never seen a mortal speak to the birds before.”

Kili smiled.

“Perhaps the mortals that you know just don’t spend enough time listening – I’ve found them quite conversational, when they know that you want to talk.”

Fee was biting his lip around a smile, shaking his head a little, and when the light caught his eyes for a moment Kili realised that they were blue, a bright and shining blue-grey, like early morning sunlight catching off a riverbed. But then his eyes drew away, caught by something else, and the moment of light was gone.

“What’s that?” Fee asked, and Kili glanced over, following the line of his sight.

“That’s the Wishing Tree,” he told him, his eye catching on the way that the corner of Fee’s mouth quirked upwards. “There are lots of stories about it in the village.”

Fee was looking at him again now, his eyes bright and amused, and Kili felt a strange little shiver run down his spine. He glanced back at the tree, a huge and twisting oak, old and gnarled and half-covered in moss and mistletoe, home he knew to a number of birds and other small things that lived in the undergrowth without drawing attention to themselves. It was a tree that all the villagers knew, through stories, and the forest space around it always seemed oddly quiet, a little too still compared to the rest of the wood, but it did not suffuse a visitor with unease, but with a peaceful sort of calm.

“Tell me?” Fee asked, and his voice was warm, quiet, as if they were the only two people in the world. Above them, the songbird called out once more, amused.

“The old women say that the tree is magic, that it has a soul, that it listens to the wood,” Kili answered his own voice lowering too. “The old men say that it isn’t the tree that is magic, but that there is a fairy that lives inside it. There are lots of different stories, you know? But everyone always agrees that the tree answers wishes, to people who really need them.”

Fee was smiling at him, and Kili glanced away, feeling the blush building on his neck start to heat up again.

“Where are you from?” Fee asked him, his head tilting to one side.

“The village,” Kili replied, vaguely. They had slowed to a stop, Fee’s horse oddly still as it watched the two of them, as if it were waiting for something to happen.

“Could I… could I see you again?”

Kili wasn’t sure what to say, for though he would have liked that, very much so, there was something strange about this whole thing, as if he were about to wake in his bed and realise that it was a dream, a sweet but fleeting dream. “You sound pretty busy, with your apprenticeship,” he hesitated. “Are you sure you have the time?”

Fee shrugged, and then he reached out, hesitant, as if he were not sure what to do, and in the end his fingers merely skimmed across Kili’s knuckles, sending another shiver through him at even that small contact.

“I’d like to make the time, if I could.”

Kili nodded.

“I’d like that, too.”

“Then I shall wish it so,” Fee said, gesturing grandly at the tree. “Tree, or tree fairy, in all your graciousness, if you could see to it that the two of us meet again, I would appreciate it, I really would.” And then he dropped into a low bow, and Kili laughed at the sight, the strange tension of the moment before breaking.

“But ah!” Fee said, turning back to him suddenly. “The festival! Are you going?”

Kili’s head tilted to one side in confusion.

“Festival?”

“For… for the Prince’s name day!” Fili told him, excitement bleeding through his voice. “The King will host a three day festival – dances and feasts and games and competitions, all kinds of fun things – and everyone is invited to come! You must have heard the invitation – we- the King, that is- sent a messenger out to tell everyone. And if you do, then I could see you again, at the palace – we could arrange a place to meet, at eight when the night begins in earnest, under the clock tower!”

Kili shook his head, just a little.

“I haven’t heard anything about it,” he answered, cautiously. “But we are outside the walls of the Kingdom – are you sure that we would be invited, out here? It is just farms, and the orphanage, out here, after all.”

Fee blinked.

“I… I had not considered that. But we- I shall ask, and see. Perhaps the messenger just has not come here yet.”

“Perhaps,” Kili replied, though he was not convinced. Still, he smiled at Fee, whose cheeks had begun to turn pink.

“The orphanage, then,” Fili asked, a little hesitantly. “Is that where you are from?”

Kili did not have a chance to reply, for from somewhere close by came the sound of the hunting horns, and the calls of men. Though he could not make out the words, they sounded as if they were calling for someone, and with an apologetic glance he took Fili’s arm, towing him through the undergrowth quickly, until they finally reached the path.

“I’ll leave you here,” he said, quickly, before darting across the road and into the trees. Fee called out after him, but he did not turn, disappearing between the trunks as quickly as he could, until he was certain that he could not be seen – only then did he look back, only to see the flash of blue and silver between the trees as the hunt rounded the corner and caught sight of Fee.

Content enough now that he knew the strange man had found his company once more, he turned back to his own way home, going quicker than before.

He was still smiling as the birds called out to him, and he sang back in turn, and although he was scolded for being late when he made it back to the orphanage, he found that his smile would not fade.

 

* * *

 

Three days later a messenger came to the earth packed square that was the closest the village had to a public space, and announced to all the invitation to the festival. Kili heard it from the market stalls, where he was unloading sacks of grain, and smiled to himself.

It crossed his mind that Fee might have intervened, and asked for the village to be invited, but he realised quite soon that it would have been impossible – after all, what sway would a mere apprentice have had in the plans for the Prince’s birthday?

 

* * *

 

It remained the talk of the village for some weeks. The young farm lads were all keen enough to go, as were the girls, and even in the orphanage they whispered about it to each other in the dormitories at night. He and Tauriel, in different dorms now they were too old not to be divided by gender, had barely a chance to discuss it, but he saw her stroking her bow fondly from time to time, her eyes distant and far off.

She was almost bursting with excitement by the time they were eventually alone, and able to talk about it further.

“Games, Kili!” she half-shouted, and he was glad that they were alone in the forest, or else they would have turned many heads. “Competitive games – and the messenger said archery was one of them. The Guards will be there, and if I go, and they see me – I just know it! This is my chance to be seen by them, to get away from this place, to-”

She caught sight of his expression, and her shoulders fell.

“You know that I do not wish to get away from you, don’t you?” she asked, quieter now, and he nodded, smiling a little.

“I do, and I hope that you do get to go, for I know that if they do see you, then they would be stupid not to offer you a place among them. I’m just a little sad at the thought of losing my only true friend.”

She shook her head, taking his hand.

“You would come to – we can find you a job in the city, somewhere close to the palace, where we can see each other every day still.”

Kili smiled, and nodded, not willing to tarnish her enthusiasm any further, though he remained uncertain: he had no apprenticeship, no training in any real field, and the city was a busy place, growing every day with people looking for work. Tauriel may be optimistic about his chances, but he couldn’t bring himself to share in it.

Still, he shook that thought from his head, for what he wanted more than anything else was for her to reach the dreams that she had held on so tightly to since she was a child. For preparations had to be made! Not one child in the orphanage had anything fit to wear for such an event, and though many of them had little interest in attending, there were some that had put their hearts into it. Kili had done enough odd jobs in his life to have picked up the basics of dress making, and though he could not create anything so fine as to impress a King, he knew he would be able to make clothes enough for each of them that they would not be ashamed to raise their heads in the crowd of people.

Other children helped too, bringing thread and bits of fabric that they had been given by kindly wives over the years, carefully stored with no real need for them. One girl brought him enough blue cotton to make her a pleated skirt that almost swept the floor: another boy, disinterested in the process, had blue velvet enough for Kili to make himself a fine waistcoat. Tauriel couldn’t have cared less about what she would be wearing, but with the help of the others he made her a fine linen dress, in a cream that would have been destroyed in just a day of work around the farms.

She hugged him when she saw it, even if she would have gone quite happily in her patched up tunic and worn down boots.

The weeks passed quickly, and Kili found himself growing more and more excited at the prospect: they arranged a lift in with one of the local farmers, who was taking his son into the city for the event, and all seemed well.

It was the morning of the festival, an excited buzz in the air, when everything went wrong.

The current Lady who ran the orphanage was no better or worse than many of the others who came before her: she dealt with the orphans with the same blend of disinterest and self-righteousness that many established noble-peoples took to the less fortunate, but she did make sure that there was always food on the table, and that the people for whom her orphans were worked did not mistreat them in any way.

However, she was also a prolific social climber, and had taken the role of the orphanage manager on with the assumption that it would allow her into certain circles whose priority was what they deemed to be social work (often misguided, nearly always with self-promotion in mind). And when the news that several of the orphans were planning on going to the festival, she became most concerned, for what the orphans did not know was that their orphanage – all orphanages in the Kingdom, in fact – were actually heavily subsidised by several very wealthy families, as well as the King. Since long before Kili arrived at the orphanage, these subsidies had been reallocated by the various noble-peoples currently running it, to more needy places.

Namely, their own accounts.

And looking at the orphans now, thin and a little tired, wiry from long hours labouring, with stained and patched up clothing, she realised how easily this long term scam could be unravelled, if any of the patrons (whose money had been subsidising her own estate on the coast so well for the last few years) happened to see that their donations were not being spent as they should. And knowing full well that it would be rather detrimental to her popularity to outright ban them, decided instead to be just a little more subtle.

So that morning, when they were eating breakfast, she pinned up a new list of assignments, and slipped out of the room before any of the orphans had a chance to see.

Kili became aware of the changes some minutes later, when the girl with the blue skirt came running over to him, her face distraught.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, startled, and her face crumpled.

“I’ve been sent out to Haverbrook farm for the day,” she told him, and Kili’s face drew into a frown. The farm was over an hour away by foot, and the farmer was something of a legend among the orphans for always finding one more job for you to do before you left for the day – there was no way that she would make it back in time to meet the farmer’s cart.

Tauriel glanced at him, rising from her seat.

“Isn’t there anything you can do?” he asked, knowing already that there wasn’t. There was no orphan that would be willing to trade jobs with her for the day, even if they could get the permission of the farmer and the Lady. She shook her head miserably, and he drew her into a one armed hug, not sure what else there was for him to say.

Tauriel slid back in, next to the two of them.

“I’ve been sent out to Haverbrook too,” she said, quietly. “And Kili, you’re on the late afternoon cleaning shift at the market.”

Kili swallowed. There was something very still, very emotionless in her voice, something that reminded him quite tangibly of those days years ago after she had learnt that she might not ever catch the eye of the Guards. In her quiet there was something deeply sad, something that caused an aching pain in Kili’s chest the longer that he was aware that it was there.

“It’s fine,” he said, trying hard to be cheery. “It’s fine! I’ll go and talk to the farmer this morning, I’m sure he will wait as long as he can for us, and if we work hard and quickly then we will make it back in time – and even if we don’t make it today, there are still two more days of the festival, aren’t there?”

The girls glanced between each other, but nodded, though neither of them looked particularly convinced.

“We’ll manage it,” he said, with perhaps more conviction than he was really feeling.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t manage it.

Kili found the small group sat in the square at sundown. They must have missed the farmer by nothing more than a quarter of an hour – and he had promised to wait for as long as he could, but any later and they would have been too late to catch the opening fireworks display. He couldn’t blame them.

He slumped down on the ground next to Tauriel.

“We’ll go tomorrow,” he told her, gently.

“He’s not going tomorrow,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “He told me – they can’t afford more than one night away from the farm.”

“You saw him?” Kili asked, in surprise, and he realised now that she was already wearing the clothes that he had made for her, though they were dirty now from sitting on the ground. “Why didn’t you go?”

She tucked her arm through his, her hand squeezing his forearm gently.

“I said we’d go together, didn’t I?”

He stared at her, in surprise, and his heart ached. She could have gone – she could have made it to the festival, and he would never have held it against her, for he knew that her dreams were riding on this. But she had stayed, through loyalty and love, and how his chest hurt for it now! He reached for her hand and squeezed it in return, unable to say anything to properly convey how he was feeling.

“We’ll find a way to go tomorrow,” he promised. “I know we will.”

They stood soon after, the cold beginning to sink through their bones from the earth, and made their way in quiet sorrow back to the orphanage. Outside its gates waited a carriage, with great mares already biting impatiently at the bit, and they edged around its gilt ornate form carefully.

They met the Lady of the place on the steps: she ran her eyes up and down Tauriel’s dress dismissively as they passed her. She was almost to the carriage, and they to the door when she called over her shoulder to the small, disappointed group.

“My dears,” she said, with a levity that sounded forced even to their ears. “Just so you know, you have all been put on evening cleaning for the rest of the week – don’t let me come home to disappointment!”

Kili watched her step into the carriage, the long sweep of her olive coloured dress disturbing the dust for just a moment. The last of the optimism that had fed his energy all day seemed to dissipate before he could find any kind of response, before he could bring himself to believe in anything again. One of the mare’s whinnied, and then they were pulling away, the carriage moving swiftly down the road, until it turned the corner, and was gone.

“We’re not going to go, are we?” said one of the girls, and Kili swallowed.

He took a step forward, despite himself.

Fee. He had not realised until this moment just how much he had been looking forward to seeing him again - and now he wouldn't have the chance, and it was unlikely that he would ever have the chance to see him once more. The thought of Fee, waiting under the clock tower, made something inside him ache.

He was never going to see Fee again, was he?

Before he knew what he was doing he was running, back down the drive, ignoring the calls from behind him. The woods swallowed him before he had a chance to think, the trees opening around him, the sounds of the people following him disappearing almost immediately as he crashed through the undergrowth. His pulse was louder in his ears than he had ever heard before: the sound of it dulled everything else.

There were tears burning in his eyes, and he wasn’t even sure why: it was more than just disappointment at not going to a party, so much more than that. These feelings moving through him like fire were years of disappointment, years of barely getting what he needed, let alone what he wanted, years of neglect and a pervading sense of abandonment. His love for his friends, too, fuelled the fire, for how could people who had so little be deprived of such a small thing? How could someone deprive Tauriel of her dream?

He thought he could hear Tauriel behind him, and he swerved from the route he was going, into the thicker undergrowth.

And then, all of a sudden, he was in front of the tree.

The sun was barely lighting the sky by this point in the evening, but the fireflies were already rising from the small plants that grew around its old and gnarled truck: they cast a strange green-gold glow on the small clearing, and he threw himself to his knees in front of the wishing tree, whose branches spread above him, almost as if it were trying to embrace him.

_The old women say that the tree is magic, that it has a soul, that it listens to the wood_

“I wish… I wish we could go to the festival,” he gasped out, too distraught to notice the way that the world stilled around him. “I wish Tauriel can go so that she can show the Guards that she deserves to be a part of them – because she does, and she should be able to go, because she’s amazing and she deserves to have her dream come true!”

A sigh whispered through the leaves, so quiet that it might not have been there.

 _And I, I want to go too,_ he said, in his head _. I want to go, to see Fee._

“Kili!”

His eyes started open, and he half-fell as he tried to get back to his feet. The strange glow in the clearing seemed only to have grown whilst he knelt in front of the tree, and now Tauriel was staring at him in fear, her eyes wide, the glow catching her long auburn hair.

“Kili, get over here now,” she whispered, and Kili frowned, half turning to see what could have prompted such a response from her.

There were hands growing from the tree.

Not solid, corporeal hands: these were a strange and ghostly thing, wavering through the air, all gold mist and possibility. He couldn’t quite tell where they came from – the trunk, a branch, from the leaves? The air shimmered, hiding the truth of it, and when he blinked it took a moment for those hands to come back into focus, for it all to seem formed once more.

“What are you?” he breathed out, and the hands seemed to hesitate, before they reached for him, and stroked the back of his hand. They left behind them a strange gold gimmer on his skin, something living and organic, as if there were magic in him. He was smiling – but he wasn’t sure when he had started to do so.

“Tauriel,” he breathed. “Look, Tauriel!”

She took a step closer, reaching for him, still keeping a wary eye on Kili’s new glowing friends. But when she saw his hand, saw the magic left behind, her frown lessened somewhat.

“What is this?” she asked.

“The wishing tree,” Kili said, half laughing as the hands reached for him again, ruffling his hair this time. “I made a wish at the tree, and it must have heard me!”

“But that’s just a story,” Tauriel said, starting a little as the hands reached for her hair, pulling on the ends of it gently. “It can’t be real.”

The hands seemed to take offence at that: they flicked at her as if in irritation, but then seemed to reach some sort of consensus: one clicked its fingers as if an idea had come to mind. The hands pressed together, and then when they pulled apart some strange gauze seemed to have formed between them, incorporeal, unreal. But they wrapped around Tauriel, never quite touching her, drifting close enough to move around her form. The strange light seemed to sparkle for a moment, and then it fell against her, transforming the stained dress that she wore. The light grew brighter, brighter, brighter, until Kili couldn’t look at it any more, and then when it dimmed down he found himself looking at a Tauriel that was entirely different to any he had ever seen before.

Her hair was piled up at the back of her head, studded through with flowers, her pale skin in contrast to the dark blue of a lavish ballgown, all silk and velvet and lace, the kind of fabrics that he had never even seen in person before. Gold and sapphires nestled at her throat, her hands – still gripping her old bow – were encased in the softest white kidskin. A fine white powder ghosted over her skin, concealing her freckles, earned from many years of working in the sunshine.

She stared down at herself in utter shock.

Kili was feeling a pretty similar way.

Tauriel looked like a lady, like one of the wealthy aristocrats that patronised the orphanage, like the world was her oyster ready for her to consume at her leisure. Never before had he seen her look so beautiful, so distant, so otherworldly…

So little like herself.

Ball gowns were not really Tauriel’s style. The phantom hands seemed to consider this for a moment, before she span once more, and the dress shortened – now a sweeping line to her knees, a soft pale blue, threaded through with gold. The elaborate coiffure fell away, the front parts of her head instead wrapped up in golden wire at the base of her skull: the small white flowers were there still, but gone were the jewellery, the gloves, the white powder too, and though she may have looked less like a lady she looked more like herself, and happier too.

Her eyes shone as she looked down at her feet, encased now into soft leather shoes.  

“You look beautiful,” Kili told her, and his face broke apart in a smile. She truly did, but to him his dearest friend _always_ did. More than that though, right now she looked so full of hope and potential, so strong as she gripped her old bow even tighter. The ghostly hands seemed to consider that too, the strange shadow of them passing gently over the wood, turning the old and discoloured surface into something shining and new.

“What is this?” she whispered, looking down at herself.

“I wished that you would get to go,” Kili said, quiet himself. But they were distracted before they could say anything more: the ghostly hands stretched away from them, searching through the undergrowth until they came across a great old chunk of branch, something left behind from a storm. And they passed their magic over the wood, until it began to stretch and grow, until the shape changed and became something else – a carriage, all gilded shining wood and polished glass.

Kili peeked through the windows. The seats inside looked softer than anything that he had ever seen before.

The hands were hovering, uncertain, and when he glanced at them they flickered in his direction, then up into the trees, then back at the saddle and breastplates, hovering in the air, as if waiting.

“Oh!” Kili exclaimed. “You need horses, don’t you?”

The hands moved up and down, as if they were nodding. Then they pointed up at the trees, where even now Kili could hear the sweet evening birdsong filtering through.

“The birds?” he asked, in confusion for a moment before he understood. Then he raised his voice to match the birdsong, as he had done so many times before, and after a moment four songbirds flew to him, familiar old friends, perching on his shoulders, nuzzling his hair with their beaks. He laughed, despite himself, at their greeting.

“Hello, friends,” he said, quietly so as not to startle them. “Would you mind terribly helping us?”

One of the songbirds nipped at his ear, in agreement.

The hands flushed a little brighter gold at this, and the birds fluttered from Kili, their wings beating in tandem as they moved around the hands, lifting higher and towards the carriage as the light around them grew brighter and brighter, just as it had around Tauriel’s dress, until Kili was forced to look away once more.

By the time he could look back, the birds were rose grey mares, already waiting in their harnesses.

Kili span around to his friend- Tauriel was running her hands over her bow, her face fixed in a picture of disbelief.

“What is happening?” she whispered, and Kili reached towards her, taking her wrist and pulling her forwards, towards the carriage.

“Wishes are coming true,” he told her, before pulling open the carriage door, and leading her towards it. “Go!” he said to her, his face full of smiles. “Go, show them what you’re made of!”

But she stopped, one foot on the step up to the carriage, and she turned to him with a frown.

“We’re going together,” she answered him, and the hands seemed to agree, for now it was Kili’s turn. The old tunic and leggings that he had been wearing, worn and discoloured and dusty from his work that day – the hands seemed to shake themselves in disbelief as they picked at the fabric, pulling gently at it, and Kili would have smiled, had his mouth not been open in shock at the strange shiver running down his spine. He closed his eyes, seeing the light grow brighter once more behind his eyelids, not wanting to look, all of a sudden afraid that if he did this whole thing would disappear, that it would just be him alone in the fading light in the woods, all of this some strange and hopeful dream to be dashed against the grim reality.

But when he could force himself not to look any longer – when the light had faded and he could hear Tauriel’s joyous laughter – he found that it was no dream.

Or at least, if it was, he was not waking up just yet.

His waistcoat was dark blue velvet, sitting snug against a linen shirt, cream and cleaner than anything he had ever worn before: the softest kidskin boots encased his legs to the knee. His hair, normally a long mess, was combed and soft, long and dark, falling down his back and tied up with a blue velvet ribbon the same colour as his waistcoat.

The tree had not missed anything – his skin was soft, his nails had been scrubbed of the dirt from the day, though apparently nothing could be done about the calluses worn into his hands through years of hard work. He wondered what he looked like, dressed like this, but in a forest there was no looking glass, and he knew better than to be ungrateful for that. Instead he dropped into a bow, just as Fee once had, to the gnarled old trunk of the tree, still beaming.

“Thank you,” he whispered, rising up and stepping towards the tree, pressing his hands and forehead to the bark, so that his words might be kept between the two of them. “Thank you so much.”

The hands plucked at him, and he felt a weight settle around his shoulders, around his arms – a jacket, tailored and soft, blue and beautiful. And there, on the lapel, a silver pin, in the shape of a songbird.

He felt tears prickle at his eyes for a moment, and sang out a clear note, so that another songbird fluttered down to him, butting at his cheek softly in a moment of comfort before it flew away again.

“C’mon,” Tauriel called. “I’m still not sure if this is real, but if it is, any later and we’ll miss the whole thing.”

He laughed, and made to pull away, but the hands stopped him, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling from it a long pocket watch on a chain. It flipped it open, and tapped against the glass- midnight.

“What about it?” Kili asked, and the hands waved around, and then shook. “No?” Kili tried, again. “No, it’ll- it’ll go?”

The hands waved up and down in agreement.

“It will disappear at midnight?”

Once more, they agreed.

“Okay,” Kili said. “So we’ll need to be gone by then.”

Tauriel nodded, and then with a laugh she grabbed his hand, and pulled him inside the carriage. The horses whinnied their approval: there was no one to guide them, but away they went anyway, crashing through the undergrowth – though, when Kili glanced out the window behind them, he saw that no branch seemed bent, that no plant seemed bruises by their passage.

It took them only moments to reach the road, the same road where he had left Fee only a few weeks ago, and he felt a flutter of excitement in his chest when he realised that he would be seeing him again – tonight – when he had been so certain only earlier this evening that he would never have a chance to do so.

_At eight when the night begins in earnest, under the clock tower_

“Stop!” he called suddenly, as the road drew them out of the woods. “Wait, we have to go and get the others!”

Luckily, the carriage seemed to know where it was going – it turned off down the narrow road that lead to the orphanage gates, where their friends were still milling, a little aimlessly, waiting for Kili and Tauriel to return. At the sight of the carriage they stared in shock, their expressions widening to an almost comical level when they saw the two of them inside – but they joined them none the less, and Kili evading their questions as best he could.

And then – finally! – they were on their way, the bird-horses moving swiftly through the dark evening, the walls of the great city soon looming into view.

 

* * *

 

They arrived at the palace as fireworks began to explode across the night sky, their way into the great courtyard in front of the grand stairway leading up to the grounds lit by gold and red spiralling across the sky. Kili wondered for a moment where the carriage would go now that they had come to their destination, but as soon as they were all out of the carriage moved silently away, across the drive, to take a place among the many other carriages, gaining many curious looks along the way from the various coachmen standing with their own charges.

There was a fluttering in his stomach as they took to the stairs: Tauriel gave him a knowing smirk when he offered her his arm, seeing right through him, picking up immediately on the fact that he needed the physical reassurance more than she did.

She took his arm anyway though, pressing close to his side to whisper a word of encouragement in his ear. The sound grew as they made their way upwards, the heat of the press of the crowds meeting them, the distant sound of chiming bells and laughter becoming ever louder.

Chiming bells… more specifically, bells chiming half past eight. He was late.

He turned to the others quickly.

“I have to go meet someone!” he told them, already starting up the stairs. “I’ll meet you all back at the carriage – remember, we have to leave by half past eleven at the very latest!”

He didn’t give them any time to reply – though he could tell from Tauriel’s curious expression that he was going to have to explain himself much further later on that evening – and instead darted up the remaining stairs. The great courtyard opened up around him, full of people and stalls and flags announcing different competitions, and through the crowds he could see colonnades, and even more courtyards beyond. The place was lit by lanterns, in all shades of colours, and somewhere in the distance musicians were playing a tune that he could not quite catch.

Any other time he would have stayed, to better appreciate the spectacle, the likes of which he had never seen before, but today he had to meet Fee – for if he didn’t get to him soon, he wasn’t convinced that the apprentice would come back the next night. He pushed his way as best he could through the press of people, apologising every time he ended up knocking into someone by accident.

By the time he finally reached the bell tower he was out of breath, and convinced for a long minute that he was too late, for there was no Fee in sight – but then a hand reached from around the a column, and touched his elbow in a gentle, familiar way.

And there was Fee, tucked away and out of sight, his fair hair braided back, a fine mask made of black feathers across his eyes and brow, his eyes twinkling behind it. His smile was just how Kili remembered, and after he glanced around them both, he pushed the mask up, and Kili was glad of it, for now he could see the way that Fee’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

“You came,” Fee breathed, as if he had not expected it to be so, and Kili nodded.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” he replied, a warmth rising in his chest. For a long moment the two of them simply stared at each other, smiling, as if they had been apart for years rather than just a few short weeks.

“Why the mask?” Kili asked, after a long moment of silence, and Fee finally let go of Kili’s arm with a blush, as if he had only just realised that he was still holding on to him.

“Just a costume,” he replied.

"You look like a bird," Kili told him, and that seemed to make him smile behind the mask.

"And you've sung me down from my tree!" he answered, and Kili rubbed at his nose, a little embarrassed despite himself. For some reason they were still whispering, as if this moment were something that neither of them wanted to share. Kili smiled brilliantly, and then Fee offered him his arm, pulling the mask back down over his eyes, and asked him if he wanted to look around.

He made it to the carriage in plenty of time that night, with promises to Fee that he would be back the next evening, and would meet him once more, in the same place. The carriage pulled away just as Tauriel told him that she had signed up for the archery competition, in one of the very last slots left, for the third night – already she seemed to vibrate with the potential of it all. The others were wreathed in smiles, excited and exhilarated, even if they were full of questions about Kili’s mysterious friend.

He evaded them as best he could, glancing over his shoulder at the glowing spectacle that was the palace until it faded from sight.

The carriage dropped them off at the gates, and then trundled into the forest again: their clothes faded back to what they had once been as they made their slow way back to the orphanage building, shivering in the darkness, the glow of lanterns lit like stars still in their eyes.

 

* * *

 

The carriage and clothes appeared again the next night, just after the Lady left to make her own way to the second night of the festival. There was work for them to do still, but for once Kili did not care that he was shirking his chores, knowing that he would arrive back well before the Lady, and would have chance to finish them then, before he went to sleep.

This time he was early to meet Fee, and grateful for not having to rush – he propped himself up at the same column where he had found his friend the night before, and waited only a little impatiently for him to appear, staring out across the crowds at the people, in their fine clothes and lit with a golden glow, people that could have stepped straight from a story – the kind of story in which magic was real, and dreams did come true.

He looked down at his hands, and smiled as he saw a flicker of gold dance across his skin from the cuff of his jacket.

He supposed that he was living a story like that, wasn’t he? At least for one more day.

The thought might have made him melancholy, but Fee arrived before it could take any hold on him, and Kili’s heart was lifted when Fee took his hand in his, squeezing it gently in greeting before leaning close, the feathers of his mask whispering against Kili’s cheek.

“I was half convinced that last night was a dream,” he confessed, close enough that Kili could feel the warmth of Fee’s breath against his cheek. “But you’ve come back again.”

“And I’ll be here tomorrow,” Kili told him, feeling a strangely overwhelming joy rise up in his chest at the warmth between the two. “But are you sure you can spend another evening with me? Are there not things that you need to do?”

Fee shook his head, stepping just a little closer, so that Kili was quite certain that if he breathed too hard that the rise of his chest might press against Fee’s. He made no move to back away, swallowing just a little instead as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The fluttering in his chest was back again, and right now, with the column at his back and Fee’s hand in his, he found himself feeling safer than he had done in as long as he could remember.

“My Uncle… well, he was a little annoyed that I didn’t appear until after you left last night, but I explained it to him, and…” he glanced around them once more, as if worried that they might be overheard.

“He said that I had to do what felt right,” he continued, a little cryptically. “And right now, I want to spend time with you.”

A smile played at Kili’s mouth, and he nodded, straightening up against the column.

“Then I suppose we had better spend time together, hadn’t we?”

That night they forwent the rush of the main courtyard, so full of people, and Fee seemed glad that they did, leading Kili instead around the colonnades, skirting the worst of the crowd. He showed him his favourite statues hidden in niches, telling him stories of hiding behind them when he wanted to escape from his classes.

“So you’ve lived here since you were a child?” Kili asked, a little surprised, and Fee nodded, glancing away, up at the main building of the palace.

“My Uncle’s job has always kept him here, and I’ve been with him,” he answered. “My mother passed away in childbirth, you see, and my father in war not long after. He was a General, in the army.”

Kili squeezed his hand, which was still linked with his.

“My parents died when I was young, too,” he answered, and Fee bit his lip.

“I did wonder about your family,” he said, quietly. “Especially when you mentioned the orphanage as if you were familiar with it. I was surprised when I saw you yesterday, by the finery of your clothes-”

And then he flushed again, rising his free hand to rub at his mask, as if flustered.

“Not that I mean to offend, of course, it is just that I know the village is not a particularly wealthy one, and of course not that I meant to make any presumptions about your state of affairs, but-”

Kili laughed, and swung their joined arms between them.

“No offence was taken,” he reassured him. “But this is not such a normal state of affairs for me, looking like this – usually I dress as you saw me in the woods, the first time we met.”

Fee nodded, though his cheeks were still a little red.

The night passed quickly, too quickly: they ignored the competitions and the stands, though now and again Fee would dart off to grab a morsel of food or a pitcher of something to drink from a stand as they passed it. He moved with an assurance and light-footedness that Kili found a surprising pleasure in watching – he could almost imagine Fee darting between trees, rather than people, and the thought of the two of them in the forest alone was a peaceful one.

When they grew tired of the loud noise outside, Fee led them both through narrow servant’s passageways into the palace proper, despite Kili’s whispered questions about whether or not they should be there. He took them down quiet corridors, darkened, the glow of the festival their only illumination. And all the while they spoke, of their childhoods and the things that they loved, of friends and old scrapes and dreams, of so many things that soon enough Kili lost track of it all, letting the rush of it wash over him, the feel of Fee’s hand in his a warmth that he never wanted to let go of.

But soon enough, of course, he had to: when the belltower chimed his reminder to leave, he found that there was a sweetness in the sorrow of parting, for even though he was certain that they would meet again the next day, the thought of leaving left a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. But Fee drew him in to a tight embrace, and did not pester Kili about why he had to leave so soon again, for which he was grateful.

His arms were still around Kili’s shoulders when Fee spoke, his voice quiet in the dimly lit room that they had found themselves in when the bells had rung.

“Do you know,” he said, his voice a little hoarse, low in the darkness as if it were a secret to share between only them. “I haven’t ever felt anything so real before now.”

Kili smiled, inhaling the soap-and-sandalwood scent of Fee’s hair.

“And neither have I,” he replied, his arms tightening just a little around the firm column of Fee’s body. “So real, but encased in a dream, too. None of this feels real but for you.”

“There’s only one more day of the festival,” Fee answered, his voice a whisper now, so quiet that Kili almost couldn’t hear him. “What-”

“Dreams wouldn’t be so sweet if they never had to end,” Kili cut across, just as quiet, and for a moment Fee’s hands tightened against his back, before he drew back, just a little, so that he could look at Kili.

“I don’t think I want this one to end,” was the last thing he said before they pulled apart. He walked Kili back to the main courtyard, their hands tightly interlaced.

Kili fell asleep that night smiling, his face pressed into his thin pillow, the strange glow of the magic still tingling underneath his skin, the faint gold dusting of it still glowing in the darkness.

 

* * *

 

The last night was tinged with a strange fear and exhilaration, for them all. Kili could feel it from the moment the carriage arrived, if not before. The others chattered amongst themselves, but there was a sadness to their excitement, for all of them were aware that this would be the last night that they would be able to live this strange little fantasy. Once the festival was over, they would return to their normal lives, to their bland food and tiring chores.

Tauriel was silent, keeping one hand tightly holding on to Kili’s the whole ride there, her other clutching her bow. This was the night that she would finally try her hand at the archery competition, the night in which she might finally realise her dream. She smiled at him, a small tight smile, when he asked if she would rather he wait with her beforehand.

“No offence,” she told him quietly, so that the others did not hear. “But I would rather be by myself. And I know that you want to meet your mysterious Fee, too. But, if you wouldn’t mind, would you be there, when it starts? I feel like, if I could only see your face in the crowd, that all of this might somehow feel less terrifying.”

“Of course I will be there,” he told her, as the horse-birds drew to a halt outside the palace. “As if I would ever miss it.”

“And hopefully,” she replied, her smile a little wider now. “Hopefully I might get a chance to catch sight of this mysterious Fee that you’ve been talking about all week, whilst you’re there.”

Kili blushed at that, and busied himself with getting out of the carriage rather than replying, for whilst it was true that he had told Tauriel much about the time he had spent with Fee, he also hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to confide the real whispers of his heart, not yet.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised Tauriel, who nodded, eyes already on the distant archery tent.

“Half an hour,” she reminded him, and he squeezed her hand once more before they parted.

Fee embraced him when he caught sight of him, a long slow, warm thing, but when he drew away Kili couldn’t help but feel that there was something a little off about him – something anxious, something on edge. He was not sure how to ask, though, so he didn’t.

Fee was more than willing to attend the archery competition with him: he and Kili went there hand in hand, and he pushed a route through to the front to them, just in time to see a tall, fair man finish his attempt.

“There are the list of all the people who have entered,” Fee said, speaking close to Kili’s ear, in order to be heard over the crowd. He pointed across the closed-off section that had been put aside for the archers, to a long list of names. “They are in order of their success – see?”

Kili watched as the blonde man’s name was inserted, third from the top. The numbers were awfully high, he realised now, but before he could worry too much, Tauriel was stepping up to the line.

She looked nervous, he thought, her face a little paler than usual, so her freckles stood out all the more. But she looked determined too, as if her bones were rent of iron, and when she scanned the crowds and caught sight of him, waving and smiling at her, there was a ghost of a smile about her face.

“She has good form,” Fee commented, as she readied herself.

“She’s the best,” Kili replied, confidently.

And that confidence was not ill-founded: Tauriel’s breathing slowed, just a little, as she raised her bow, competition arrow notched, and one by one she fired each into the centre of each target. Kili whooped as loud as he could for each, and louder still than he even thought he could manage when her name was placed first on the board. Fee was cheering too, and clapping wildly.

“There are a few more competitors,” he shouted over the crowd, nodding to a few rather disheartened archers standing behind Tauriel. “But not many, and I don’t think any of them have a chance of beating her!”

Kili felt tears prick at his eyes as Tauriel lifted her gaze to him, some mixture of joy and pride and pleasure flickering around her mouth, more potent than any smile. But her eyes were drawn away from his by the approach of a large, tattooed man, who had made a beeline for her the moment her name had been placed.

“That’s Dwalin,” Fee told him, pressing close to his side. “He’s one of the head Guards – look, he’s asking her to talk. He hardly ever does that – he must want her to join them. And I don’t blame him, after that performance!”

Kili nodded, full of joy but not surprised. He had always known that she would achieve her dreams.

The crowds around them were thinning now, people moving on to another spectacle, but a sharp cough from behind them caused them both to turn around, in unison. Fee seemed to tense beside him at the sight of an older man, with a long white beard, who was staring a little reproachfully at the two of them.

“F-”

“Balin!” Fee cut across, his voice full of a levity that was not quite genuine. “What a surprise.”

Balin did not look particularly impressed. Kili swallowed, a little anxiously, suddenly getting the impression that they had been doing something wrong, and feeling terribly guilty, even if he wasn’t sure why.

“You’re needed,” he told Fee, his voice not one to argue with. “You cannot put it off any longer.”

Kili felt a disappointment rise in him, at the thought that their evening would be cut so short, but Fee turned to him, biting his lip.

“Come with me?” he asked, and Kili frowned a little.

“Where to?”

Fee glanced to Balin, and then back at Kili.

“I-” he started, before trailing off.

“It’s the dance,” Balin supplied, and Fee swallowed.

“I am supposed to attend,” he said, a little awkwardly, and for a moment it looked as if he was going to say something more.

“Would you dance with me?” he asked instead, and Kili nodded, thoughtlessly, for why should he need to debate whether or not to dance with Fee, when to agree was to extend their time together just a little further?

But as they followed Balin, he couldn’t help but feel a little nervous, for he felt implicitly as if there was something more that Fee was trying to tell him, something that he could not find the words for – it was in his tense stride, in the glances he threw in Kili’s direction, in the way his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. They follow in Balin’s wake – for people seemed to be moving out of his way immediately – towards the actual palace proper, but this time they did not enter through a serving door but through the main ones, into a vast hall far larger than anything he had ever seen before. An anxiousness crept into his chest, so he tried his hardest to focus only on the feeling of Fee’s hand in his, the warmth of it.

And before he could really adjust to the grandeur of the place they reached a door, huge and gilded and ostentatious, and Balin pulled him away – Fee was smiling reassuringly at him, mouthing something that Kili couldn’t quite catch, but before he could call out Balin took him through a different door, much smaller, and down a narrow staircase. They paused at the bottom, and Balin turned to him, his face creasing into a rather friendlier smile.

He brushed a speck of dust off Kili’s shoulders.

“You’ll do just fine, lad,” Balin told him, and he felt just a little of his anxiety shift.

“This way,” Balin said, quietly, leading him through another door and into a huge hall, full of people. None of them were looking at him – none of them had even seemed to notice him. They were all focused on a wide and sweeping marble staircase that led down into the ballroom and it was at the bottom of these that Balin left him, with another encouraging little smile.  

Everyone around him was dressed in the finest clothes that he had ever seen, and he shifted a little uncomfortably, even with his own fine blue velvet and the crackle of magic under his skin. Up on a balcony, on the other side of the room, stood a figure that Kili immediately recognised, despite only ever having seen his face on pictures and coins before – the King. He looked just the same as his likeness, all stern features and a dark beard streaked with silver and a big nose and a softness to his mouth that spoke of ready smiles: there too was his consort, by his side, in green velvet, with curly hair, a soft belly, a wide smile and twinkling eyes, looking as if he would fit much better in a pub than in a ballroom – much more a grocer than the King’s consort.

Still no one was looking at him, still no one had noticed him, and he found himself wondering if he should slip out before someone told him that he should not be there, but then the doors at the top of the sweeping staircase opened, and the room quietened, and someone that he could not see loudly announced the entrance of the Prince.

All eyes turned to the staircase and the door at the top, which was slowly opening.

A figure stepped through, the Prince he supposed, but-

But it was Fee at the top of the stairs, his mask gone, smiling a little tightly as his eyes scanned the room.

And then he saw Kili, and his eyes seemed to light up, and he made his way quickly down the stairs, reaching the bottom probably quicker than he should have done, and he bowed low to Kili, offering him his hand, and Kili found his breath catch, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing, so he bowed back, because aren’t you supposed to bow to royalty, even if you have been holding their hand and stuffing toffee apple slices into their mouth and calling them Fee?

But he took Fee’s hand, and let him pull him out onto the dancefloor. The music started up, but Kili did not really register it, and it was lucky that Fee – or Fili, he supposed – seemed to know what he is doing, leading them in a wide and sweeping dance around the room, because he wasn’t sure if he would have managed, left to his own devices.

“So,” he said, quietly, so that no one else could hear over the music. “A Prince?”

Fili blushed, shrugging just a little.

“I’m so sorry,” he said back, just as quiet. “I was trying to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”

Kili nodded, an anxiousness worming his way through his chest.

“I’ve never had a friend who treats me like a normal person before,” Fili continued, after a moment. “And just… everything about you is just…”

He trailed off, and Kili found himself smiling, just a little.

“Friends,” he replied, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “Is that what we are?”

It was a little daring, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Fili glanced at his feet with a small smile. He didn’t reply, didn’t say anything more, but his hand on Kili’s waist tightened, just a little, and a spark of something warm flared in Kili’s chest at the contact.

Someone coughed behind him then, and as he glanced over Fili’s shoulder he realised that the eyes of everyone in the room was looking at him – and why wouldn’t they be, the voice in his head began to yell. He wasn’t dancing with Fee the apprentice right now, who no one would think twice about – he was dating Fili, Crown Prince of the whole Kingdom, and just as a panic began to crawl up his spine Fili leaned forwards, just a little.

“Look at me,” he told him, his voice reassuringly familiar. “Just look at me, pretend that there is nothing else here.”

And Kili did.

Fili’s eyes were warm, a shade of blue that he had never seen before, and he can feel the heat of his body, as if it were anchoring him to the moment. The world slipped away around them, until all Kili could think about is the movement of their bodies, the feeling on Fili’s arms around him, the press of their skin, the music moving around them like water. He began to hum, under his breath, and the corner of Fili’s mouth turned upwards, just a little.

“That’s your birdsong,” he said, pulling Kili just a little closer. “The song you charm the very birds with.”

Kili felt a flush rising on his cheeks.

“I didn’t think you’d remember that,” he replied, quietly.

“Of course I do,” Fili replied, his voice low and somehow heady, leaving Kili almost a little dizzy. “There is not a thing about you that I could ever forget.”

He paused, for a moment, as they turned in their dance once more.

"And besides, you've charmed me too, haven't you?"

Kili had to look away then, for the intensity in Fili’s eyes made something warm and altogether too pleasant flutter in his chest, and oh, he had never really known what love was, not really, but he was rather sure that it must have felt like this, some new and fluttering bird, precious, and all he wanted to do was to wrap his own hands around it, to cradle it, to protect it.

He didn’t register the whispers, the quiet questions about who he was, this man dancing with the Prince, who was meant to be choosing his consort that very night – who this unknown boy was, picked above the many eligible princesses and lords who had been waiting throughout the whole festival to meet the Prince, who had been oddly unseen until just before midnight each night…

He didn’t notice a Lady in burgundy, the only person in the room who recognised the boy with the Prince, and he certainly didn’t notice her expression of fear.

The music swelled, and other couples joined in with the dancing, partners moving around them, and with a glance up to the balcony and a nod from the King’s consort Fili danced Kili through the crowds, towards the side of the room, hidden by the swirl of dresses and the movement of people. There was another small door tucked away in the corner, and Fili pulled him through it, into a quiet passage.

It was still the most lavish place he has ever seen, even compared to the parts of the palace that Fili showed him yesterday – and he suppose it made more sense now, how Fili had seemed so unconcerned with being discovered. No one would have been angry at the Prince for strolling around his own palace, would they?

It was all polished mahogany and gilded picture frames, but he hardly saw any of it, focused only on Fili’s hand in his, the warmth of a press of a body next to his, and Fili pulled him through rooms and passageways until the walls turned to old stone, and the place acquired that strange, chill silence that only the the most ancient places possess.

“This the oldest part of the castle,” Fili said, in something that was almost a whisper.

The floorboards were warped under their feet, and Fili continued to pull him along, until they reached at last another door – so many doors, Kili’s head was spinning from it all – an ancient, wooden door this time, but when they went through he realised that they were now outside, in perhaps the most beautiful, ethereal place that he had ever seen outside of the forest.

It was a courtyard, smaller than many others that they had visited around the palace, but with the dark sky open above them and no lights in sight it seemed much bigger, at least to Kili's. There were fireflies rising from the dark green ivy growing up the walls, the moon the only light that they had overhead, casting a silvery glow around them.

And then Fili’s hand was on the back of his neck, a warm and gentle press, and when Kili turned to look at him he saw that his eyes were searching looking for- for something.

Kili smiled, moving closer, and kissed him.

Around them, in the stone beds, moonflowers were opening, spilling a sweet scent into the air, and he whispered teasing words about Fili’s deception between kisses, for he could not bring himself to be angry right now, not when they had so little time left. There was laughter shared between the kisses too, and they pressed closer together, moving across the courtyard until Kili’s back was pressed against the wall, the ivy moving around him with a rustle, the stone cool against his back even through his jacket.

Fili’s eyes were like gems in the dark, he thought to himself, the blue caught by the silver light, creased in a smile, the same smile that Fee the apprentice wore, and how could he bring himself to be upset at Fili the Prince when he had those same eyes, when Kili himself had not intended to tell him about the orphanage, indeed had given him as few details about his own life as possible?

This moment, Kili thought to himself around the overwhelming feeling of it all, in the brief clarity that he could find between kisses, this moment could last forever, as far as he was concerned.

But it didn’t.

It never does.

It could have been minutes or hours after they arrived in the courtyard when the belltower chimed, and Kili startled: he had not noticed the time slip by as they danced in the ballroom together, as they chased an impossible dream down palace corridors, but now it was already far closer to midnight than it should have been. The watch that the tree gave him felt suddenly heavy in his pocket, weighed down by the reminder that their night had reached an urgent close – he knew that the others would be waiting for him, that he was already too late, that he must leave immediately or else risk discovery by the Lady, risk the magic fading, and with some regret he pulled away from their kiss, slipping between Fili and the wall before the Prince could raise his voice in protest.

As Kili pulled away, Fili’s hand, still tangled in his hair, caught on the fine velvet ribbon, and it fell from Kili’s dark hair.

“I’m sorry!” he called out, over his shoulder, as he ran back towards the door. “I am so sorry, but I have to go!”

And he ran, and he did not look back, even though he heard Fili calling out behind him, calling for him. He followed the passageways back until he found the ballroom, following the distant sound of music and people, and then he skirted around the edge of the room, his hair wild around his face without the ribbon. Now he was much more aware of the stares he was accumulating, all the surprised expressions of men and women far greater than he would ever be, all staring at him as if he were a clown escaped from the circus. The King stared at him from the balcony, a confused and piercing stare, and Kili looked away, racing up the sweeping staircase, turning just in time to see Fili bursting through the door on the other side of the room, blue ribbon still caught in his fingers.

He spared time enough to take one last look at that face, before he turned, and ran again.

Out of the palace this time, to the courtyard beyond, pushing through the crowds until he could finally see the gates that marked the stairs down to the road, where their carriage and his friends were waiting, all of them sat inside but for Tauriel, who was watching his progress with some concern.

There was something oddly fluttery about the horses, as if their true nature were lying under their skin, feathers and whisper-light bones just waiting to reappear.

He half fell into the carriage, it already starting to move as he tumbled inside. Tauriel hauled him into a seat, her worry now turning into the broadest smile that he had ever seen.

“They’ve asked me to join!” she told him, before he even caught his breath. “In three weeks, when I turn twenty, I’ll be joining the Guards!”

He wrapped his arms around her, grinning himself now, murmuring words of congratulations against her hair.

 

* * *

 

The magic collapsed about a half-mile from the orphanage, after the horses break-neck speed finally gave away. They found them tumbling to the ground at some speed, grazing and scraping themselves, and Kili and Tauriel found their clothes turning back to ragged tunics, to discoloured fabrics, collecting even more dust now they were in the dirt. The birds fluttered away with a call of distress as the reins faded back to a gold mist, and Kili laughed, despite himself, the gold touch of the magic still flickering under his skin for a moment, before finally disappearing.

Something caught the moonlight in the dust next to him, and with a smile he picked up his small pin, shaped like a songbird, the last gift that the tree had thought to leave for him. He pinned it to his tunic, hiding it under the layers of his old ragged jacket, and swallowed.

They picked themselves up, and made their way back to the orphanage that was the closest thing to home that any of them really had.

The others walked ahead, leaning against each other, laughing softly in the darkness, exchanging stories and quiet exclamations of joy, but Kili and Tauriel hung back. She was beaming still, and she told him all of what the Guards had told her, all their praise and admiration, all about the life that she was going to lead when she finally took her place in the palace grounds, among the people that she had always deserved to stand alongside.

“But,” she asked, when they were nearly at the gates of the orphanage, “What happened to Fee?”

Kili smiled, a small and private thing.

“It was a dream – a beautiful dream, but a dream none the less.”

She frowned, just a little.

“Are you going to see him again?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“That’s the thing with dreams, Tauriel,” he replied, taking her hand. “They all have to end, eventually.”

 

* * *

 

Life returned to normal, or at least, as much to normal as he could ever hope for it to be, and Kili convinced himself quite quickly that he was not grieving for what could have been. A future with Fee the apprentice was a conceivable enough notion, but with Fili the Prince-and-someday-King? Not so much. He was just an orphan after all, a commoner with no noble stock and future at a farm or blacksmith forge, with little to offer.

One day, in the future, his nails engrained with soot or dirt, his face lined and tired, he was sure that he would be able to look back fondly on those short, sweet evenings without any regret or longing. For now though, he threw himself into his work, knowing that soon enough he would have to decide on a future himself, and knowing too that wondering too much about Fili, and what could never have been, would only distract him.

What Kili did not know was that just a few short days after the festival a missive was sent around: the Lady who ran the orphanage received it, as well as a letter, handwritten by someone she could only have dreamed of socialising with (and oh, how she did dream of such a thing).

It was a short message, and to the point: it requested information about an orphan believed to be under her care. The Prince, it seemed, was searching for this orphan, and though Kili does not know it, the Lady herself had been in the ballroom, half-hoping to catch the eye of the Prince herself, or at the very least one of the many noble and eligible Lords in the room hoping for the same thing.

Another thing that she knows which Kili does not, because she moves in very different social circles to the young orphan, and keeps her ear to the ground for such information, is that the King himself married a commoner, many years ago, despite protests from his advisors, and that this marriage is a loving and happy one, and one which (though this had not been the King’s intentions) had gained him much support from his people, much admiration and love for following his own heart.

She also knows that the King values his nephew above all else, loves him as the son that he never had, and that he would not stand the Prince’s way should he chose to follow the same path in love that his Uncle did.

Most people would have been happy that a child under their care had found love, and some more mercenary folks would have been delighted at the advancement that such a love would afford them. But the Lady has much to lose.

If Kili is found, then it will not be long before the state of the orphanage is also discovered, by the very highest in society. The same worries had made her try and stop the children from attending the festival in the first place, but this is a much greater danger, both to her own position, her prospects, and her finances. So she writes back to the palace, on scented paper and in her best calligraphic writing, and tells them that whilst of course she would have been delighted to help (a lie), that there is no one living by that name in the orphanage or even in the village, and no one who even matches that description. She is terribly sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, and should they need her aid any further, she would of course be delighted to help in any way that she can (another lie, of course).

She believes that this will be the end of it: the Prince is young, and no doubt this love is a passing fancy.

She burns the letter from the palace, and resolves not to think of it again. When letters from the Palace arrive in Kili’s name, she burns them too.

But despite the ear that she keeps so carefully to the ground, there is one thing that the Lady does not know, and that is that the Line of Durin do not give their heart away with doubt, and nor do they rescind it with ease. They have held their throne through determination, resourcefulness and drive, and these traits come through in every aspect of their life.

They do not give up so soon.

When her reply comes to the palace, neither the Prince nor the King – who, as the Lady so correctly presumed, is willing to help his nephew in any way that he can – are convinced, for Fili had felt no lie in Kili, no deliberate deception, and had he not first run into him in the forest by the village? He is not willing to give up on such a precious thing so easily, for his heart has spoken, and spoken loudly at that.

It is neither King nor Prince that suggest a next step, however, but the consort, whose wiles and intelligence have sent more than one underhanded nobleperson and ambassador away with their proverbial tail between their legs. If they cannot convince someone to tell them where Kili is, why should the Prince himself not go to search him out?

So just one week later, when the Lady hears that a royal entourage is en-route to the village, she once again moves the orphans around the rota for that day, making sure that Kili is sent to the furthest farm that elicits their aid, so that he will not be seen all day. The orphans that remain in the vicinity she bans from speaking to the group, threatening to restrict their meals, a threat which lingers heavy in the heart of any person who has ever known the bitter sting of true hunger, which they all have in lean winters.

The Prince arrives in the late afternoon, and there is no Kili there to see him, no smiling dark-haired man waiting for his arrival.

But there is a Tauriel.

She had finished early from her own tasks that day – and perhaps something in the manner of the Lady had set her nerves alight that morning, for rather than spend her time in the forest as she normally would, she lingers in the treeline, watching carefully as the grand horses of the Guards ride up to the gate, and many of them dismount.

She watches, and she waits, and she sees a man with a coronet across his brow, golden hair free from braids and catching the light, his face set in anger as he storms from the orphanage in frustration. There is only one man in the Kingdom that would wear a crown like that, with the crest of Durin embroidered so proudly on his raiment. He mutters something to the Guard closest to him, whose face is hidden by a helmet, and then they mount their horses, and ride away.

She slinks back into the orphanage unseen, and watches the Lady slip back into her office with a self-satisfied expression on her face.

It is a young boy that comes to her, one that has not had fear beaten into him quite thoroughly enough yet to keep his tongue still.

“They were asking about Kili,” he whispers to her, so quiet that she almost didn’t catch his words. He looks a little afraid, and she pats his head absently, and whispers a soothing word of thanks or two when she leads him away, certain that they won’t be overheard.

 _Fee_ , she thinks to herself. She had not considered it before, but Fee could be short for Fili, could it not?

And if it was, no wonder Kili had thought it to be a dream, and nothing more.

But now Fili was here, searching for her dearest friend, with the Lady standing in their way.

“They said that they would come back,” the boy whispers to her once more, before slipping away. “But I don’t think the Lady heard.”

And if she didn’t?

A chance, still.

 

* * *

 

It was late in the evening before Kili made it home, covered in dust and looking tired, the strange kind of bone-deep tired that he has been wearing since the end of the festival, the kind of tired that has stripped just a little of light from him. She almost pounces on him when he finally comes through the door, but her excitement is tempered by her fear of discovery – should the Lady realise that the Prince plans to return, or that Kili has uncovered her deception, then Tauriel does not doubt that she will do anything in her power to prevent their meeting.

“Kili,” she hissed, as soon as she had led him back out of the orphanage and between the trees. “Your Fee – is he the Prince?”

Kili didn’t answer for a moment, scuffing the ground with his foot, but when he looked up at her he nodded, a silent affirmation.

“How did…” she trailed off, and uncertain how even to ask, and Kili smiled, explaining as best as he could. It did not take him anywhere near as long as he expected to fill her in on all of the details – how strange, that something that felt so huge and important to him, could be condensed down to just a few words. She was smiling, just a little, when he finished.

“You look so happy when you talk about him,” she told him, quietly, and he shrugged, just a little.

“What does it matter?” he answered her, his eyes drifting to the treetops, the leaves in the tree above them already starting to turn to yellow as the summer drew to a close. “When nothing more will ever come of it?”

Tauriel took hold of his hand, drawing his gaze back to her.

“He was here today,” she whispered, although she did not know who she thought would be listening to them in the empty expanse of trees. “He was looking for you – and he said that he would be back.”

Kili swallowed, a small and dangerous hope fluttering in his chest, as if a songbird were trapped behind his ribs, desperate to be free.

“He was?”

She nodded.

“I saw him myself,” she replied. “With the Guards, and a fine crown, and looking rather put out that you were not there.”

Kili wet his lips, but did not know what more there was to say. They made their way back into the orphanage, tired but smiling, just a little, still hand in hand. Tauriel squeezed his, now and again, and whenever he glanced up at her she was glad to see that just a little glimmer of his old self was shining out once more, as that songbird of hope continued to beat its wings.

Kili, despite himself, was beginning to feel almost optimistic.

He tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep, Fee’s name curling in his mouth, the thought of his blue eyes an ever present, unchanging one.

 

* * *

 

“Kili,” he heard, and he startled. He had been staring off into the distance over his porridge, so lost in a daydream (all blue velvet and silver moonlight and warm hands against his back) that he had not noticed the Lady approach him. The dining hall had emptied out around him – Tauriel had left early that morning for work, and he had spoken little to the others, still sleepy from his fitful night.

“Um,” he replied, less than eloquently. He could not remember a time in his life when the Lady had ever spoken to him directly, let alone smiled at him in such a kindly way, and he wondered now why Tauriel had been so certain that she had set out to sabotage his reunion with Fili – he could not understand what would have been in it for her, nor too why anyone would want to do such a thing. Perhaps Tauriel had simply misunderstood?

“Good morning,” he continued, remembering his manners.

“And to you, too,” the Lady replied. “I know you must leave soon for work, but could I borrow you for a moment? I have just a little job that I have found I need some assistance with.”

Kili looked up at her, and something flickered in her eyes, but he remembered his mother’s words, to always be kind, and he nodded. He had not looked at the board this morning, had not even seen what his task for the day was, but he supposed that she would know if he needed to leave urgently. He stood, and followed her out of the room.

“There are some heavy boxes in the attic,” she told him, over her shoulder, as she led him up the stairs. “I have been told that they hold some important documentation, left over from my predecessors, but I have to admit that I cannot bring them downstairs myself, and it is far too dusty to go through their contents in the attic itself.”

Kili nodded, humming something that might be considered an agreement as he followed her. Her long, chestnut curls were swept up into a loose chignon today, fashionable and shining even in the grimy light that came through the dirty windows.

He did not feel particularly wary of her: her explanation more than made sense, and he followed her at a comfortable pace as she continued to witter on about the papers that she hoped to uncover. He kept only one ear on her, his mind already drifting back to courtyards lit with lanterns, to the brush of a mouth against his, the scent of moonflowers rising in the darkness.

“It’s just up here,” the Lady said, with another, slightly shark-like smile shot over her shoulder. She had led them above the dormitories, up a narrow flight of stairs that ended in a small door, and she produced a key with a flourish.

“I’ve never been up here,” Kili remarked, absently, and she nodded as the key turned in the lock.

“We keep it locked up,” she told him, quietly. “It’s a bit lonely, in this part of the house – if any child got lost or injured, we wouldn’t be able to hear them calling from downstairs.”

She pushed the door open, and gestured him inside.

He padded through, eyes glancing across dusty floorboards and piles of old furniture, boxes and strangely shaped things hidden under dustsheets. It was dim, in here, the only light coming from two small windows on the far window, their panes cracked and old, one small pane missing altogether, which accounted for the unseasonable chill in the room. There was a lingering smell of damp, and decay, and things left to be forgotten.

He wondered, for just a moment, how long any paper could have lasted in his dingy space.

“Which boxes?” he asked, just before he heard the door shut behind him.

He span on his heel, but the sound of the lock striking home reached him before he had even managed a step towards the door. He tried to open it anyway, rapping his knuckles and then shoving his shoulder against the wood, but it did not budge.

The Lady did not answer his calls. Neither did she respond to his shouted questions – in fact, all he heard was the rustle of her powder-blue dress as she quietly went back down the staircase.

Kili stared at the door in shock, blinking a little.

There was only reason she would have to lock him away up here, and that reason was Fee. She could have sent him once more to a distant farm, but he supposed that he would have been easy enough to track down – all Fili would need was one glance at the work roster for the day, and he would know where Kili was.

He swallowed.

No doubt she was removing his name from the board this very minute.

Hidden away up here, in the attic, he would not be seen, would not be heard. Tauriel would not know where to look for him, and neither would Fee.

He sank down to the floor, ignoring the marks it left on his already stained clothes, and drew patterns in the dust as he thought.

It was some hours before he heard the sound of horses outside, but when he did he leapt to his feet, running to the little windows, to find that they were on the wrong side of the house – of course they were, she should have realised that before now – he could just about see the shadows that the horses and their riders cast, if he craned his neck enough, but nothing more. He tried to shout through the little missing pane, but no response came. The trees came right up to the walls of the orphanage courtyard on this side of the building, and the forest swallowed his thin calls.

The trees seemed to whisper to themselves, and he closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against cracked, cool glass.

If he tried hard, desperately hard, he thought he could make out the stamping feet of the horses, the sound of a quiet conversation – then the door to the orphanage opened, and there was the pleasant tone of the Lady, and the door shut again.

The horses didn’t move, so he supposed that the visitors must have gone inside, and he wracked his mind trying to think of a way to attract his attention. His chest hurt, his hand pressing against it, the hopeful little bird replaced by something much deeper and full of grief, but-

The songbird.

He could feel the pin, still hidden away under layers of fabric.

The thought hit him quite suddenly, and paused for a moment, his eyes opening, scanning across the tree line. He moved his face as close to the missing pane of glass as he could, and then he began to sing.

It was a tune that he had known for as long as he could remember, the last gift given from a mother whose face he had already mostly forgotten. Many people had asked him in the past quite how he sang to the birds, but never had he been able to come up with an answer that made sense – _I just do, that’s all_ never quite seemed to do. But that was all there was to it: he didn’t know the words to the song any more, though he had a vague thought that perhaps his mother had once sang words to the melody, but the tune itself remained as clear in his head as anything, and now he sang out, as loud as he could, calling the songbirds of the forest to him, and for a long moment he thought that they could not hear him too, but then first one, and then another come from the treetops, landing on the wall that surrounded the orphanage, glancing between themselves. One flew right up to the window to greet him, and he recognised one of the dear horse-birds, and he smiled even as he continued to sing.

And they sang back to him, as they always did, and more and more came, sitting in a line and calling out their chorus to the morning sky, the noise of it growing gradually louder as more came, and then more still. Five birds turned to ten in mere seconds, then to twenty, to fifty, and after that Kili found that he lost track, but they still kept coming, birds he knows and those that he had never met, frail older birds whose song has a quavering note, and young spry ones, whose voices rose louder and louder.

He can see the shadows moving now as he peers, as the Guards left outside turn to look at the birds, as still more come, singing his song with him.

The door opened, he thinks: it must do, for a flock of children come outside, ones who were still too young to be sent away from work, and the birds cover the entirety of the wall now and the children laugh, and point, exclaiming in wonder as the birds sang in unison, a mass of feathers and sweetness, louder and louder and louder.

“Look up there!” one child called, pointing at the attic window. “Is there someone in the attic?”

“There is!” a Guard shouted, looking up too, squinting into the sunlight – and Kili supposed that he must just be a shadow behind clouded glass to the people below.

The song swelled, louder still, loud enough now that it drowned out the conversation below, the calls of the children – but it isn’t loud enough to hide the sound of frantic footsteps on the stairway outside. He left the window finally, tearing across the room, back towards the door.

“Kili!” a familiar voice called, and then there was a loud crash which he suspected was a shoulder barging at the door, with as little success as he had.

“Fee?” he whispered, barely able to believe it, his voice cracking just a little. He should speak louder, he knows that, for if he doesn’t then Fili won’t hear him, but right now the bird is back in his chest, his heartbeat a cacophony, and he wondered for a long moment if he had fallen asleep here, in the dust and the mildew, if he were about to wake up on the cold wooden floor, in echoing silence and loneliness.

A key must have been produced – the Lady had caved, and taken it from the chain around her neck, knowing when she is beaten – for there is a small scuffle, a click, and then the door was opening, and there was Fili, striding from the shadows of the corridor into the room, the finery of his attire contrasting with the dirt and the old cobwebs. Kili started, for a moment, seeing him like this, and swallowed, for how could something so fine be in this drab little life of his?

But Kili didn't know what he looked like, the sunlight fighting through the grimy windows catching the motes of dust around him, lighting them up, as if they were fireflies or the golden mist of a wishing tree, and he cannot see how wide his eyes were, how full of hope he looked, how right now, in this moment, there was no other sight that could have been so special, so beautiful, in no way drab at all, to the Prince.

There was warmth in Fili’s eyes as he stepped closer, and a fear that is turning slowly to relief, for there had been a part of him wondering if he would ever see Kili once more.

Kili’s hair ribbon was wrapped around his wrist, and it stroked across his cheek as Fili reached his hand to cup Kili’s face.

“There you are,” he whispered, his voice achingly familiar, and Kili found himself smiling, just a little.

"My favourite apprentice," he replied, teasingly, and Fili smiles.

Fili’s arm wraps around his back, and pulls him close, until Kili’s face is buried in a strong shoulder and golden hair, and they are both laughing as his arms falling around Fili’s back.

“Come home with me,” Fili murmured to him, and Kili could feel the sound of his words as vibrations through Fili’s chest, could feel the warmth of his words just through his voice. “Come be with me.”

Kili nodded, just once, before kissing his Prince quite soundly, the chorus of the birds still echoing through the tiny attic.

 

* * *

 

A long time ago, in a world that was not so different from our own, there was a Kingdom of shining glass and silver, the diamond in the crown of a just and stern King. It was a good place, a warm place, a place where a person could be anything, given enough spirit.

Ruled by a King, but not just a stern King – one who smiled more often now than when he was younger, a King who spun his own laughing consort around their rooms, both of them glad of their only nephew’s joy.

The nephew – the Prince, that is, with hair like spun gold, was glad too, for he had found a man that he loved who loved him in turn, a consort with laughing eyes who sang to birds and who padded quietly through the palace courtyards, the light of joy never quite leaving his eyes.

And across the road from the palace, in the barracks there lived too a Guard, who became soon enough a Captain in her own right, with hair like autumn leaves and arrows that flew truer than any other.

It was a good Kingdom, a good place to live. Orphans dressed in clean clothes, with time to laugh and play, and no jobs to be done, for their orphanages were managed by the right sort of people now.

A place where children never went hungry, or without love and kindness.

A Kingdom where people laughed in peace and harmony.

People from afar whispered to each other that the streets ran with plenty, and that in its gleaming streets wishes came true.

Kili believed that now.


End file.
